ISSUE 20 February 2016 works of the young and talented to the whole world.
An independent magazine aimed at bringing the

You WILL be rewarded a
copy of Garde Magazine
Anniversary Issue!

An independent magazine aimed at bringing the works of the young and
talented to the whole world. Believing in ideas, thoughts and concepts, Garde
Magazine follows the principle of simplicity and honesty.

Founders
Cleo Tse
Natasha Chan

cleo.tse@gardemagazine.com
natasha.chan@gardemagazine.com

Creators

Ankie Fok

Wong Wing Fung

Contributors
David Madsen

david.madsen@gardemagazine.com

Chan Kwan Lap
Kalle Ă&#x2013;stgĂĽrd
ODKST
Tammy Ha

Special thanks
Maria Evrenos

Content
Wong Wing Fung
Fine Art
To paint memories and emotions

Ankie Fok
Sculpture
Art goes first

Movie Review
The Hateful Eight
David Madsen

What is it...
Ink Painting
Chan Kwan Lap

Story teller
ODKST
Kuro Ex Machina - Chapter 8

Wong Wing Fung
FINE ART

to paint
memories and
emotions
Contributed by

W

hat is your creation about?
My creation focuses on relationships. Some of them
are community-based. The relationship between my
work and the space, audience or between me and the
audience, things happened, people or places take important roles in my
works. My recent work The Cabinets of Memories explored the relation of
memories and their storage.

W

hat do you usually use as your medium?
It varies every time. I studied theatrical scenic painting
under Applied Art. It can be understood that painting
is my foundation but is affected quite largely by theatre
settings. I care a lot about how the audience experiences my work,
so medium matters a lot because it has different functions to present
related relationships. Some installations works are site specific therefore
the change of the location will lead to the change of the work.

W
W

here do you get your inspiration?
There is nothing specific â&#x20AC;&#x201C; it probably is from different
things happening around me. It could be a small thing
in life such as a glass of cold water given by a stranger
in summer or the dance of leaves in the wind; it could also be as big as
a nuclear disaster.
hy did you say In Praise of LIGHT: Homage to TAOHOâ&#x20AC;¨is a
turning point of your creativity path?
It combines space, natural light and observation of
audience in the work, therefore the effect is difficult to
predict. It is challenging to me as I could only go with the effect and
make changes. Other than that, I have prepared some little booklets
and a mailbox at the location to invite the audience to read and leave
messages. Out of my expectation, I received over a hundred messages
and most of them had solid content. Some people shared their
thoughts after seeing the work. It made me realise that even though I
was not at the site, my work could be a channel to communicate with
an audience. This experience affected me when I created The Cabinets

Wong Wing Fung - The Cabinet of Memories (I): Wing Lee Street
The Cabinet of Memories (I): Wing Lee Street regards memory and
perception.
The situation in Wing Lee Street begged for a reflection: When things
cannot coexist, how do we make a choice? Is it more important to
preserve the tangible form of a heritage building, than to document
intangible memories and sentiments of the years?
In the quest for answers, Wong began to review her knowledge and
sentiment of Wing Lee Street. Though the collected objects appear small
and ordinary, they each carry snippets of moving and authentic stories.
Though Wong Wing Fung grew up and lived in the Central and
Western District for twenty-odd years, she found her knowledge of the
area limited to her immediate surroundings. In her work, the thirtytwo drawers of collected memories are anecdotal evidences shared by
residents and shopkeepers alike; the act of sharing stories, apparently,
is the recipe of thorough reflection and experience of the bygones. The
artwork itself may not represent all of Wing Lee Streetâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s residents, but
Wongâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s treasure chest preserves her pride for the neighborhood.
In the 2015 exhibited version, Wong demonstrated hints of audience
responses she embraced in the 2010 exhibition for greater possibilities
of imagination and stimulation.

of Memories. I gave chances to the audience to leave
messages and interact. The concept of story exchange
also appears.

P

lease share an impressive creative experience.
Actually my experience is always impressive
when I create. There was a while when I
worked on The Cabinets of Memories, where
I had been spending a lot of time on the elderly and
listening to their stories. It made me understand them,
the society and Hong Kong better. These elderly people
had fading memories and they did not necessarily
remember me every time, but my feelings to them had
increased. Each of them carried a lot of history and
stories and they bring everything away when they leave
the world. It is sad that our sense of conservation is
weak and does not pay much attention to conserve
them. Working on a project related to the elderly is my
attempt to conserve heritage - I found that particularly
meaningful.

W

hy are you particularly interested in the sense of
touch?
The school I studied in is a performing
art school. Although my major isn’t
performing that requires a lot of body or touching, I
am very interested in the sense of touch. People usually
ask “does it look nice” and then “does it sound good”
but rarely ask “does it feel nice to the touch?” That
makes me curious and actually sense of touch can be a
very strong communication channel that deserves more
attention.

Wong Wing Fung - The Fish I Tasted at Home (II)
For many, a simple home-cooked meal comforts them
the most. The salted fish business had commenced since
the generation of Wong’s grandfather. Even so, Wong’s
preference over fresh fish was never overwhelmed by
salted fish. Living with her grandmother, arguments are
inevitable, be it because of the generational gap, different
ways of loving, or simply stubbornness; No matter
what happens, grandmother always got Wong’s favorite
steamed fish ready on table whenever Wong comes home
for dinner.
Inspired by her childhood trips to Southeast Asia where
vendors used to print tourists’ photos on plates and sell as
souvenirs, Wong opted to preserve her grandmother’s love
in the artwork ‘The Fish I Tasted at Home’. The plates
used in the project are either second-handed or interior
goods from chain shops, signifying the imperfection of
human beings.
The Fish I Tasted at Home (II) explores struggle and
reconciliation. Wong rejoined broken plates and adorns
gold leafs upon the cracks; a process which does not hide
flaws but highlights glaring scars and conflicts. With this
work, Wong hopes to share the struggle and value of
reconciliation, and the love within.

H

ow did you start your art life?
Starting a creative life isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t
difficult, but continuing it is
the main point. When I was
young, I thought about being the fashion
designer of a DJ, which might have shown a
bit of my creative side. I now have a series of
work related to sound. I suppose I could be
called a DJ? I was pretty bad at examinations
and memorising and I started studying in
performing art school after high school â&#x20AC;&#x201C; that
should be the start of my creativity life.

H

ow does art affect your life?
Creation requires observation
of things and feelings given to
the environment. Observation is
training to me and makes me focus on society
and people more. Starting from observation,
I have been looking for answers. It does not
mean that I can find it or when I found it there
could be changes. Art is the process of looking
for answers. The process of creating art is
imagining, seeking, expressing, sharing, owning
and disowning. Art taught me to face myself,
others and then the world.

Wong Wing Fung - Grandma Grandpa Memory Boxes
The glory of young men is their strength, gray hair the
splendor of the old.
Proverbs 20:29
What do the memories of the elders – our cultural
heritage – mean for us? In the past Wong Wing Fung has
attended many elderly art workshops. Through casual
bantering, Wong realized the elderlies’ recollections are as
if living history textbooks, detailing the life and ideology
of certain time and certain places. Wong is excited about
every gathering with the elderly, for in what they say there
is flesh and blood, laughter and tears, inspiration and
intimacy; each memory unique in flavor.
Strand up in the presence of the aged, show respect for the
elderly and revere your God. I am the LORD. Leviticus
19:32
Cabinet of Memories (IV) is an installation in the form
of fragments, carrying Wong’s reflections regarding the
elderly and family ethics. Many of the elderly at the
workshops had dementia or were visually impaired. It
is not rare to find them forgetting what they have done
and whom they have met; nonetheless, they always hold
your hands lovingly without fail; from their hands, Wong
felt sincerity. Though the objects and narratives Wong
collected are seemingly insignificant, each object, box,
and frame hold important memories. If you are willing
to open your heart, to listen, and to observe, then you too
may be able to glean invaluable experiences.
Wong longed for, through this artwork, a possibility of
conversations between “this” generation and the “last”.
She also presents this work to like-minded individuals
who are dedicated to get along with their elderly at home.

Ankie FOk
SCulpture

art goes first
Contributed by Tammy Ha

A

nkie Fok is an artist.

She is a visual artist who designs and creates modern
wood sculptures. Her work has been exhibited multiple
times in her home city, Hong Kong, as well as in Macau and Taiwan.
She was a finalist of the New Art Wave International Artist Award in
2015 - an award that celebrates emerging artists.
Ankie managed to achieve all this through learning the technical
craft on her own for the majority of her career— or at the very least,
the beginning of it. It would not be an understatement to say that
Ankie’s wood crafting career started from humble beginnings.
It was 2010 when Ankie began her journey as a wood sculptor
simply out of her strong sense of connection with, well, wood.
“It’s a straightforward and simple kind of passion,” she tells us.
It is simply the texture of wood itself that draws Ankie to the material.
“To me, the beauty of wood grains is simply irresistible. [Wood]
contains warmth when you touch it. It’s enduring yet it is in harmony
with our human body temperature. Just like human beings, every type
of wood possesses its own unique set of temper and characteristic.
While some are harder, with darker colours and have a nice and natural
aroma, others are lighter in weight and in colour and they are more
porous. You simply can’t just treat nor use all kinds of wood in the
same manner. Therefore, for each time before you start creating any
works, you have to judge and consider what to use and how to use
it first, which is a process I enjoy very much and which keeps me
motivated in gaining more knowledge in this area.”
So Ankie got to work. She bought herself some simple hand
tools, a few wooden blocks and laid them out on the dining table of her
home, where she spent hours … bleeding her fingers out and making a

Ankie Fok - Persistence Rocking Chair
Teak Wood, 26cm(L) x 14cm(W) x 24cm(H), 2014
This is a pair of miniature rocking chairs that are made of
teak wood. On the chair backs, it is the Chinese word for
“Persistence”. With Persistence, one will never fall – this
is the creative rationale underneath.

Ankie Fok - Tea Time
Mango Wood, 38cm(L) x 20cm(W) x 70cm(H), 2014
This is a pair of miniature rocking chairs that are made of teak wood. On
the chair backs, it is the Chinese word for “Persistence”. With Persistence,
one will never fall – this is the creative rationale underneath.

mess of her home with wood scraps
and dust. Ankie then realised it was
probably better to educate herself
about the craft with books. Shortly after,
in 2011, Ankie started her own studio
One Fine Day Productions and finally
decided to join wood classes and learn from
experienced veterans.
If self-teaching the craft of wood
sculpting through blood and dust doesn’t
show you Ankie’s dedication to her work, then
investing in a studio after only a year of starting
out in the craft may. Opening her own studio
was a decision that was merely practical to
Ankie at the beginning: the sound, the dust
and the dirt that woodworking creates were
simply unbearable for the cramped living
environment of Hong Kong. It was in fact
what Ankie, who is also a cultural worker,
describes to be the “number one challenge”
for local artists in Hong Kong, if not for
every other resident.
“[The] crazy high rent and high
economic pressure in Hong
Kong [means that] quite a large
number of artists here need
to spend a great proportion

of their time doing different kinds of day
jobs and [only] immerse themselves into the
world of arts during spare time, so as to earn
the necessary amount of money to sustain
their studios and/ or their daily lives. In
other words, not too many local artists can
have the luxury to be full-time ones, which in
turn reduces the time that many of them can
spend on focusing on their art practices.”
Tracing back the creative roots
In a speech given by acclaimed
American public radio personality/
storyteller, Ira Glass, on honing one’s craft
and overcoming frustrations of creators
starting out, he said, “All of us who
do creative work, we get into it
because we have good taste.”
Ankie’s taste
as an artist (and her
commitment to
art itself) can
be proved or
at the very least
endorsed by her
bachelor’s degree in
comparative literature

at the University of Hong Kong,
as well as her further studies in Art
Direction in Film before becoming
an artist herself. She accredits her
education in these areas as crucial to
the development of her as a human
being to begin with and in terms of
forming the core values underlying
her wood art.
An artist’s observations
towards life, rather than the material
he/she uses, be it wood, stainless
steel or ceramic are what Ankie
considers the ultimate asset to his/
her art. As an artist, it is important
to Ankie to safeguard “sensitivity,
curiosity and innocence as an artist,
towards the surroundings that I’m
living in or I’ve noticed” - qualities
which were enhanced throughout
her university years in the Faculty of
Arts, during which her belief that an
open heart and an open mind as the
essential mindset for an artist was
reinforced.
Ankie’s further studies in Art
Direction in Film, where she learned
how to design and create movie
sets, props and costumes for actors,

delivered her from the scholarly side
of art appreciation and critique to
the creative side of making tangible
art. “That period was helpful for me
in getting familiar with the practice
of creating physical objects step by
step from mere concepts in my mind
in early stages.”
The future
As she continues to establish
herself as a visual artist in modern
wood sculpting, Ankie, is not one to
merely stay on one side of the island
of the art industry. Once stood on
sidelines, appreciating and observing;
now an artist, creating—Ankie also
wants to invite people to the island
as well, to appreciate and observe
and to create.
“I would like to be involved
in more art projects or create more
artworks that promote social good
and social equality… I want to spend
more time on arts education in the
coming future. For example, I’ll be
co-presenting a wood class with
another experienced sculptor from
May to June 2016.”

“Far from the revenge films of his past filmography, Quentin
Tarantino’s newest film, The Hateful Eight, is challenging,
bloody and bold.”

W

hether it’s a mother punishing the
men and women who took away
her maternal right to nurture her
child in Kill Bill or a freed slave
blowing up Mississippi plantation owners in
Django: Unchained, Tarantino’s tales of bloody
revenge has given us some of the most entertaining
and starkly original films through the aught and
into the new decade.
It is with this in mind that The Hateful
Eight feels like something completely different
from his previous body of work in some key
ways. The reason for this is twofold. Firstly, this
isn’t an epic revenge film, it’s a mystery thriller
framed as a stage play. The film takes place a few
years after the American Civil War and has eight
strangers bunkered up in a small tavern, Minnie’s
Haberdashery, in the mountains of Wyoming
during a deadly blizzard. All of them have different

stories to tell, some of them true - most of them
lies, and as Kurt Russel’s character, John Ruth
mentions “one of them fellas, is not what he says
he is.”
The film then plays out as a Werewolf-like
game, in which the characters take turns to hash
out differences, threaten one another and try to
figure out who’s telling the truth and who isn’t.
The tension escalates a good two thirds of the
way through the movie as people quickly go from
suspicious to murderous, bodies pile up and the
floor of Minnie’s Haberdashery becomes slippery
with blood and brain bits. The bar for violence has
steadily been raised in Tarantino’s recent films and
The Hateful Eight somehow finds new ways to up
this ante even further.
Secondly, the big difference is the overall
dark nature of the film. Tarantino’s films have

in the past first and foremost been rather jovial
and fun genre thrill rides. However, as I left the
theater for The Hateful Eight, I felt downright
queasy, unsure whether what I’d just seen was
cruel and nihilistic, a result of an auteur given one
too many chances at carte blanche filmmaking
or the boldest film Tarantino has made in his
more than twenty years of filmmaking. What I
mean by this is that unlike his previous batches
of natural born killers, there’s nothing righteous
or just about any of the characters in The Hateful
Eight. The title implies as much, I know, but
still even the people you would count as being
the main players of the film are often the most
despicable ones. Samuel L. Jackson’s character,
Mayor Marquis Warren, would in particular seem

to be the most righteous in his bitter violence,
him being a former slave and all, yet his sadistic
behavior ultimately reduces him to a complete
psychopath. It makes for an at times almost
unbearably, uneasy experience. Especially as the
group finally lets go of any illusions of civility
and enacts all the hatred, all the tension and all
the vile bitterness that stands between black and
white men, Union and Confederate veterans,
immigrants and Americans, men and women
and Europeans and Americans. It means that
there aren’t any bad guys to root against or
good guys who are justified in their actions. Just
vile characters doing horrid actions which the
audience is forced to reflect upon.

Regardless of these differences this is still
very much a ‘Tarantino’ film given the way we
have come to know his particular idiosyncrasies.
It’s mainly structured around scenes of
longwinded conversations between colourful
characters which are characterised by Tarantino’s
talent for writing off-the-cuff, loose dialogue.
In The Hateful Eight’s instance, this dialogue
does at times come off as being too expository
as characters spend large chunks of the film
giving monologues about themselves or another
character. However, there are plenty of fantastic
conflicts and confrontations that reach the same
heights as some of Tarantino’s best-written work
such as the bar scene from Inglorious Basterds.

The film is an audiovisual delight as well.
A lot of the marketing of the film has boasted
its use of 70mm celluloid film instead of digital
video and the wider format is used to great effect.
It captures both the isolation and harshness of
the outdoor mountain ranges and allows for some
fantastic cinematography in the indoor scenes
with the camera being able to frame multiple
character interactions at once. The soundtrack
is equally impressive with legendary Ennio
Morricone as its composer, a guest song from
Jack White and even a remixed version of a track
from John Carpenters masterclass horror/mystery
film The Thing from 1982. It’s used rather
sporadically and especially as the film moves
to Minnie’s Haberdashery, it becomes almost

absent, leaving behind the sounds of the
howling blizzard and the equally chilling
conversations the group shares with one
another.
Lastly, the films’ brilliant cast is
a great all-star roundup of Tarantino
regulars such as Tim Roth, Zoe Bell,
Samuel L. Jackson (of course) and
returning actors like Kurt Russel and
Waltor Goggins. Except for Michael
Madsen’s rather miniscule and flat
character as the cowboy Joe Gage, there
isn’t a weak link among the characters and
a couple of them stand out as some of
the best performances these respective
actors have ever made. Tarantino
newcomer Jennifer Jason-Leigh especially
is downright haunting as the criminal
Daisy Domergue and manages to bring
tons of nuances to her character as the
plot slowly unravels. Samuel L. Jackson
brings a level of gravitas and manic
glee to the role of Major Warren that is
needed for that character to work. In a
group of angry men, he is the one who
consistently has the upper hand and
Jackson completely owns that role. And by
god does Tim Roth clearly have so much

fun with his role as the snooty little shit
of an Englishman, Oswaldo Mobray. In
a cast of amazing actors he steals every
scene he’s in without breaking a sweat
and easily replaces Christoph Waltz as this
films soft-spoken European.
The Hateful Eight may prove
to be the most divisive film Tarantino
has made since Death Proof but a lot
of that has to do with how god damn
challenging a film it is to watch. Keeping
this in mind, this film has the potential
to grow on people over time. Through
brilliant statements like Mayor Warren
mentioning that black men can’t be safe
in a room with white men as long as
they’re armed and the constant verbal and
physical abuse the one woman in the film
has to endure from the many angry men
she is surrounded by, it feels incredibly
contemporary to the racial and gender
issues of today. These are issues that the
film exposes through use of such intense
violence and characters, they are ultimately
impossible to ignore. Hence, The Hateful
Eight may not be Tarantino’s best film,
but it sure as hell is his most powerful
one.

ther than being one of the most prominent mediums
used in Chinese art history, ink paintings have gained
increasing importance and popularity in the current art
world. We have invited Chan Kwan Lap, an ink painting
master of landscapes to tell us more about it.
How would you define ink painting? (What is ink painting to
you?)
Ink painting consists of two main categories: one completely relies on the brush work in order to get the whole piece of work finally
finished, while the other one treats the brush as one of the tools used
to have the final image done. As I am now doing Modern Chinese
Ink Painting, I use different tools and techniques besides using the
Chinese brush in my work. So ink painting to me should be the work
keeping abreast with our present era. We should have our own method of approach to show our unique style different from those traditional ones. As what is now new will be the tradition in the future.
What is the difference between traditional ink painting and
modern ink painting?
Traditional ink painting is more or less confined and affected by
the style and the brush strokes of our former artists, while modern
ink painting will not be restricted by the examples and rules of our
former generations. Artists can freely apply various methods and
techniques to explore whatever they want to express in creating their
artwork.

Basic steps of creating
an ink painting
The basic steps of making an ink
painting vary from one artist to another.
There are also different steps that go
together with each different technique
applied. For Chan, his steps are:
1. Spray the water-resistant table top with
water, then spread plastic sheet on the
table, as there is water underneath the
plastic sheet which may stick on the table
top firmly.
2. Apply water-base ink on the plastic
sheet freely according to my desire.
3. Roll up a piece of rice paper, then
unroll the paper and spray water on
it at the same time until the paper is
completely soaked with water.
4. The paper will expand when it is wet
and many little channels are formed. This
allows the ink to flow freely underneath
the paper.
5. Now I may put another one or two
pieces of paper on top of the wet one.
6. Do not lift the paper up, because ink
staining marks only form when the paper
is completely and naturally dry. It takes
several hours to get the rice paper fully
dry. Now I can see a rough image on the
paper.
7. Finally I may hang the rough image on
the wall to think about the composition of
it. Then I will put the necessary shadings
here and there to get the painting finished.

From your perspective, what are the advantages of ink
painting?
I think the advantage of ink painting (especially modern
Chinese ink painting) is close to my interest and needs. It is a
unique and oriental system of art. It needs high technique to
control whatever marks are put on rice paper. Once a mark is
made on the paper, unlike oil painting on canvas, it cannot be
corrected easily. So a good piece of work is worthy of appreciation.
How can we appreciate a piece of ink painting artwork?
In my opinion, I think the appreciation of an ink painting artwork is better by the first sight of impression which
will guide us and cause probing into the different aspects of
attractiveness including the creativity, personal style, connotation, colour , tone and composition etc, of the artwork.
For you, what are the most beautiful elements of Chinese
ink painting?
The most beautiful elements of Chinese ink painting
are that it possesses the unique conceptual idea in the system
of aesthetics. Embodiment is an important spiritual factor
in Chinese tradition. When we are appreciating a piece of
creative work we should first of all understand the concealed
background meaning of the artwork. Moreover, the artistic
and infinite imagination as well as consonance inspired by
the Chinese ink painting are far beyond words can express.

Why are ink paintings mostly themed with landscape and nature?
Each individual artist has freedom to choose what subject matter he/she likes to paint. Maybe the
changeable images of landscapes and nature are so tremendous that it can provide the artist with a sense
of open minded feeling so as allowing them to acquire the vast breadth of mind for their creative work.
So that their subject images will not be confined in the small scope of animals, birds, flowers and insects
etc.

Chan Kwan Lap - The Psalm Of Tree No.5, 96 x 179 cm, 2014

As an ink-painting specialist, what are the most important qualities for creators who would like
to develop themselves on that path?
One should have to go through with oneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s belief and strong interest in art and not easily give up
no matter how difficult the situation ahead is. Moreover, one should believe what one has done can definitely make a contribution and add treasure for the study, research as well as development in art.

I drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep. When I came to, the
bedroom was softly lit by the grey autumn light falling in through my
venetian blinds. Dawn was gone.
I left the bed and got dressed. Squinting in the morning grey,
I tried to gather my thoughts, but couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t seem to concentrate. A
ravenous hunger pounded against my mind like a sledgehammer.
Feeling confused and empty, I left the bedroom and headed for the
kitchen.
The apartment was silent, bathed in the same noncommittal,
drowsy grey light. I could hear traffic outside. There was no trace of
my sister. Her bedroom was empty, but the lights were still on. Taking
another look at the poster on her wall but still not recognizing the man
on it, I shut off the lights and continued to the kitchen. Once there,
I opened the fridge and looked at the items inside, but couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t seem
to find any of them appealing, despite my aching hunger. I groaned
and closed the fridge. Over by the espresso machine, our fruit bowl
was almost empty, but a small, perfectly green apple lay at its bottom. I
grabbed it and took a bite. It was sour and more harsh than refreshing,
but I ate it with satisfaction, even its core.
As I stood there in the empty kitchen, eating the green,
shrunken apple, something I had previously only barely registered
started to attract my attention. I turned back towards the fridge,
stepping closer to its large, silver door. On it, someone had attached
a piece of paper with three colorful magnets the shape of letters: a
yellow A, a bright green E and a purple Y. I examined the piece of
paper, the only thing up on the fridge. It was covered in scribbles, row

after row of almost unreadable ciphers: the unmistakable handwriting of my
sister. I tore the paper off the fridge, sat down by the kitchen table and began
to read.
Dear brother.
I had to write this quickly because I was feeling the strongest of urges to get out
of the apartment. I don’t know where I will go so I will not tell you for fear of unwittingly
feeding you lies. I don’t like lies, do you? Remember when we were little? You told me that
we should never lie to each other. Do you rememb Because it scares me when I cannot trust.
But nothing good can ever happen when I trust people. This is not even about Alex, he
is nothing to me now, he means nothing and as far as we are concerned he doesn’t exist
anymore. I don’t know what this is about. The obvious answer would be that it is about
what happened yesterday. But it is only when I self-consciously observe the events of last
night that they strike me as something bad. I don’t feel as if we have committed a crime.
Do you?
Remember the party last February? Do you remember that time? You tried to get
me to taste rum for the first time and I protested, but meekly; in retrospect it seems that
you could have gotten me to try anything, maybe it is in your voice, brother, maybe that is
why you have such a strange command over me in every situation, maybe your voice But
I’m probably wrong, but whether I am wrong or not, whether my mind is just spaceing out
again or not is irrelevant; I did try the rum. But do you remember when we were sitting at
that table? Do you remember that Uncle approached us, wearing that brownish-red cape,
laughing that horrible laugh he has? He was already very drunk, although it was still
early in the night. Do you remember that he asked me if I wanted to dance? You were
talking to Samuel by then and I do not know if this would’ve been something you’d notice.
But although I didn’t really want to, I went and danced with Uncle and it was around
this time that the rum started to take hold. Uncle was quite the gentleman, leading me
gracefully across the dancefloor, although he was very drunk he did not make any mistakes
in his dance, as far as I could tell. I was even starting to enjoy it at first, although I could

tell that many were watching which made me want to die. You know how the stars go out
sometimes? They can’t burn for ever. Anyway, I don’t want to bore you so I will try not to
lose track of what I’m trying to say. My mind is just a thunderstorm today, or maybe not a
thunderstorm but the inside of a hurricane, it is hard to really hold on to any thoughts, it is
like a blasting wind, tearing the trees out of the ground. I remember trying to find you as I
danced, but when I looked back at the table you were no longer there. Maybe you had gone
with Samuel to get some air. It made me feel cold on the inside to see that you had gone. I
wanted to stop dancing, but by now Uncle was pressing me closer, telling me what a good
dancer I was. I said ‘thank you’ but he wouldn’t let go of my hands, just kept pressing
me to his chest and telling me what a good dancer I was. He smelled terrible. I looked
around the room for you, but you must have left for the time being. Finally I managed to
slip my fingers out of Uncle’s grasp; he just laughed and said that I was a rare breed of
woman. I turned around to leave but then he ran his hands over my butt and legs, it was
as if a tarantula had trapped me, I didn’t say anything, just laughed at first because it
was so bizarre, I did not think Uncle would do such a thing. Then I looked at him to see
if he would apologize, but he just kept laughing before he turned away and headed for the
bar. I looked around to see if anyone had noticed or would say anything, but no one did.
And because I was a bit drunk from the rum you’d given me and because no one else said
anything, I didn’t say anything either.
It makes me feel dirty to think that he rubbed his clammy hands on my butt and
legs like that. But when I think about how no one at the party said anything, it transforms
me into a statue, and I need to stand still for a while just to be able to catch my breath
again. I haven’t seen Uncle or talked to him since. It makes me cold and stiff like a corpse
when I recall him.
Do you remember the speech that Dad held? Do you remember when he spoke
of all the times he and Uncle went hunting together? That’s when I somehow felt that the
rifles they were carrying were not pointed at the animals in the forest but at our heads, your
head and mine, yes, you can call me crazy, but that is what I gathered from his speech.
Their rifles were pointed at the back of our heads, and this was obviously the subtext of

the speech, and neither Dad nor Uncle missed this subtext, and they laughed heartily at
the stories. I sat there frozen solid, dying, my heart pounding like crazy, just wishing to be
anywhere, anywhere but there. It makes me nauseous to even write about it. Come to think
about it, most of everything makes me nauseous. I’m going to go drink some water.
Ahh, that’s better. Wow, this became an entire novella. I didn’t mean for it to go
on for so long. Hope you enjoy it. Heading out now. Thank you for yesterday. It was nice.
It was just – what word am I searching for? Maybe it was bad. Maybe it was evil. Maybe
we are evil. I don’t know. All I know is, yesterday I wasn’t nauseous. Not ever since you
found me in my room with that tie around my neck. It was as if you had exorcised the
sickness. Haha. Listen to that. ‘Exorcised the sickness.’ I really am crazy. OK, going now.
Not sure where. Don’t try to find me.
Dawn
PS. OK, just one more thing. I have a feeling about that letter you received tonight. Don’t
know if the feeling is good or bad, but it’s something out of the ordinary. Just sayin’. Stay
out of trouble. OK, really going this time. Bye.
PPS. Do you think we’re evil? I’ve been up all night just thinking about that word: ‘evil’.
I can’t get it out of my head. Maybe we are evil and that’s just what we are. Think of all
the travels we’ve made, all the things we’ve seen, all the good things we’ve experienced at the
expense of the rest of the world. That’s evil, isn’t it? But it got me thinking. Maybe that’s
just who we are. Maybe we’re not supposed to be anything else. I know most people would
think what we did tonight was evil, and wrong, and disgusting. And maybe they’re right.
But I don’t think we shouldn’t have done what we did. Do you?
So, anyway. Evil. Maybe that’s what we are. I don’t know. I’ll think about it.
God, I haven’t slept one bit. I don’t know how you could sleep so well. You were snoring.
I watched you for a while, I like watching you sleep. Your stomach moves in a very peaceful
manner.

Need some air now. Bye.
***

I read through the letter twice. When I was done with it, I left the
kitchen table and headed for the living room. I slumped onto the sofa,
stretched out and watched the dull light fall in through the panorama
windows.
So, she had decided to run away from home, like some child. She
would sometimes do silly things such as that. The letter had said that it had
nothing to do with Alex – that was one of the boys from her school. Had she
had a crush on him? It sounded familiar. Samuel was our cousin.
Had I been talking to him at the party? I couldn’t remember. She was
probably right. Somehow it seemed that my sister was the more perceptive
one, at least these days. Everything was a fog.
I blinked against the light. My eyes felt weary, as if they wanted to
protest by shutting down for good. I squinted. Faintly, a searing discontent
started in my stomach. I should probably eat something more. Something
realer. The couch didn’t feel welcoming at all. I was restless; my left leg kept
twitching. Almost automatically, my head turned to my left, allowing the
mysterious letter from yesterday to slide into view. It was resting patiently on
the sofa table, right next to the ice cream and the two empty cups. I stared at
it, and it struck me that I wanted it to disappear as I lay there, just disappear
without a trace as I was watching it. I would have forgiven the impossibility
of such an event, only for the letter with the dark blue insignia to be out of
my sight.

The letter remained in place.

The unpleasant feeling in my stomach grew as I got up again,
returning to the kitchen. I searched the drawers for the letter opener. It was
in the second one, underneath a cluster of kitchenware. I pulled it out and
went back to the living room.
I sat on the edge of the sofa and grabbed the strange envelope. For a
while I just held the letter opener in my left hand, weighing it in my palm, not
particularly eager to continue. It was a lovely letter opener, black and gold,
with stylish markings around the handle. Where had we gotten it from? I
didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know, but I had always liked it.
Finally I cut open the envelope, put the letter opener down and
produced the letter. It was a lot more concise than my sisterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s endless
digressions. The small text seemed to have been written on an old-school
typewriter. I held the firm piece of paper a bit closer, squinting to see what it
said.
David!
Please continue your inquiries which are perfectly valid, and consider these words
a prime encouragement. I hope, for both our sakes, that this will awaken a desire to know
more.
You can find me at The Logical Room, Berenstraat 17, by 19:17 tonight. I know
that you have many questions, and hope my answers will suffice.
Sincerely,
Mr. Murasaki.